Returning to Pain
by raziella
Summary: His grip on the hanger slacks and he slides to the floor. Shoulders are shaking, fingers are trembling, lips are quivering, teeth are shattering – his body is crumbling. ShinKai Angsty
1. Returning to Pain

Extract: His grip on the hanger slacks and he slides to the floor. Shoulders are shaking, fingers are trembling, lips are quivering, teeth are shattering – his body is crumbling.

Summary: Shinichi is back, painful as it is, painful as it is going to be, he has decided to return.

Warning: Angsty...

* * *

Shinichi walks down the memory filled street, looking at the houses bringing back moments from his childhood, in through the dark windows where people are already sleeping, up at the sky where the same stars that have mockingly been glaring at him this entire time is still flaunting their endless fire.

His steps are slow, no energy to put a bounce behind his legs' working. No, he is pulling his feet behind him, barely finding the will to put one in front of the other. In fact, he might be slowing down. Was he losing his determination now? Well, it wouldn't be the first time he collapsed only paces away from his destination.

Then he finally catches sight of the grand mansion. His eyes are itching, was he crying? He feels no wet on his cheeks and when he blinks his eyes feels dry. Well, it wasn't his style to be nostalgic anyway.

He puts a hand on the iron gate, just taking a moment to appreciate the coolness of the metal, the heaviness of the construction being held up by clasps connecting to the high fence, only contributing to the spooky aura the house was radiating. Really, what were his parents thinking, buying such a dark place?

Finally he gathers strength in his arm and pushes the heavy gate open, closing his eyes at the creaking sound it lets out in its reluctant movement after such a long rest being left undisturbed. Ran hadn't bothered to out oil on the cranky hinges. Just as good, he thinks miserably. She spent too much time there as it was.

For a girl as strong as Ran, you would expect her to know when to give up, to move on. But she had stubbornly held on, for two years. Two years and two months since that fateful day at Tropical Land. She had even held on when he stopped calling, answering her phone calls, mails and requests to solve a case. He could have been dead for all she knew, and yet…

A heavy sigh escapes his lips, resounding from deep down his chest where his heart constricts. There was so much pain involved with Ran. The guilt eating away at his soul. The beautiful memories of their growing up together. The new sides he had seen when living with her. The tears he had watched her shed, for him. And most painful of all was the panic that had crept up his throat when he realized he didn't love her anymore.

A light drizzle reminds him to close the gate and continue up the lane to the growing mass of bricks hovering over him in an ominous manner. He casts a glance up at the starlit night, noticing how the strong winds have carried heavy clouds in from the east. It's even darker now, he can barely see the wooden door some paces ahead, if it wasn't because of the copper handle glinting in the weak light carrying from the streetlights.

Out of habit he would have thought would be forgotten by now he pats his pocket in search of his house key. Nope, long gone. Reluctantly he fishes out a small metal wire, forms it into something suitable and methodically starts to pick the lock to his own home.

Home? He hadn't slept a single night in this nightmarish building for over two years.

His fingers go numb from coldness before he gets the door open. Bangs hang down obscuring his vision, dripping from the water accumulated under the persistent drizzling, turning heavier by the minute. He rests his forehead against the door in frustration, close to giving up, just breathing in the musky scent of old wood. He suspects he could fall asleep standing, not bothered by the uncomfortable position, the cold seeping into his jacket, the burning feet, the ice cubicles that were his toes or the aching back. The issue was if someone were to see him…

Slowly he presses a hand against the door, straighten up, fiddles some more with the unforgiving lock and stares dumbly when it gives in. Hesitantly he opens the door, peeking inside. The height of irony if someone were to wait for him behind the block of wood, he thinks and chuckles inwardly, humorlessly.

Darkness meets his suspicious gaze and he opens the door completely, stepping in. The smell that hits him almost knocks the air out of his lungs. He would have tumbled to the floor had he not have caught hold of the hanger just inside vestibule.

His mother failing to cook him breakfast the first day of school. Dressing up for a date. Reading him _Sherlock Holmes_ as a goodnight story. His father sitting in the study, writing diligently. Smirking at him when he solves a case. Smiles, laughter, warmth – the love this place holds, his parents hold for him, he for them. He's gasping for air. Why was it so painful to feel all this?

His grip on the hanger slacks and he slides to the floor. Shoulders are shaking, fingers are trembling, lips are quivering, teeth are shattering – his body is crumbling. He fights to hold it together, push down his emotional havoc. He mustn't push it. Miyano's warning rings clearly in his memory. He's still weak. He might break at any time. He's at a constant risk every time he moves. She had only very reluctantly let him go. Perhaps she sensed his apathetic behavior and hoped if he returned he would show some vitality. Of course, she hadn't known he wasn't going home, then.

He had spent a month traveling. Just backpacking in places as unhabituated he could find. Areas devoid of human life. He couldn't stand looking at anyone right now. The isolation of being a shadow had cut deep into his chest and ingrained itself. The darkness remained even as he removed the threat. It didn't matter that _they_ couldn't hurt him anymore; he was still living behind a mask.

He had let his people think he had gone down with them. Perhaps caught a bullet to his chest, stuck in the fire at the police station, fallen of the roof of the construction site, strangled by one of the many underlings that got cold feet during the exposure of their hideout. Who knew?

Miyano had kept calling him persistently, having caught the movement of the GPS installed in his cell phone, guessing, knowing, hoping he was alive. A couple of weeks where he tossed the phone in the sea and moved, he had considered starting over somewhere new, but even the thought of trying to make a new life someplace else, even where people didn't know him, made him physically ill.

It wasn't until newspapers, broadcasters and radio alike had starting leaving cryptic messages hinting at 'solution', 'return' and 'discovered' that he suspected Miyano might have been trying to contact him to give him the antidote to the APTX4869.

He swallows, forcing the lump in his throat down. Muscles constrict in his throat in protest to the unshed tears he wasn't holding back but wouldn't come. His forehead rests against his knees, fingers clawing at the doormat that was uncharacteristically clean. Breaths are wretched from his lungs in painful gasps. He coughs when he breathes in the dust that had found its way there between the diligent cleaning sprees of Ran. He throws a fist into the cabinet where his mother kept their scarfs and gloves. The loud boom when bone met wood didn't quite cover his pent up frustration, helplessness and fear, and it didn't quite help in any fathomable way. But he did it again anyway.

Eventually returning to the now, he collects whatever composure he may have saved somewhere, pushes himself off the floor and closes the door. Wouldn't do to have neighbors coming over to ask him curios questions, welcoming him back, saying hi…

He turns around, makes his way over to the staircase and stares miserably at the endless stream of steps meeting his eyes. They seem steeper than he ever remembered them to be.

Every step, every breath, every blinking of his eyes, even the motion of his hand following the railing – it stretched on forever and yet he finds himself on top of the staircase, looking blankly at a door. The door to his room, his _room_. _His_ room. When was the last time he had had anything that was his own, without question and without it being given to him?

Tentatively, hesitantly, almost afraid of what he might find, he slowly puts his hand on the door knob and twists it around. The dust gathered in this room is heavier than in any other place, he notes. So the timid teenage karate champion had stopped short at the entrance of a crush and teenage boy's room.

He makes an attempt to move swiftly, not to anger the resting dust particles. They flare up in aggravation anyway, and he despondently makes his way over to the bed.

It creaks when he sits down, just as it always did before. He almost smiles. Plummeting down into the still made bed, he coughs when the dust whooshes up in a surprised shot, almost coming to a complete standstill in the air before descending in slow-motion, almost unwillingly.

He closes his eyes. It doesn't smell like him in here. The air is too still, it's obvious no one has been living here for a long time. It's clean, neat like it never was. Papers, files, books of references, half-finished homework and experiments should cover the desk, floor, nightstand and bed. There was none of that. Where had it all gone? Had he cleaned it after returning home that last time? Maybe Akai had stepped into his room after all. Or maybe _they_ had taken it all?

He breathes in deeply, trying to ignore the wave of memories threatening to overwhelm him. He didn't want them, didn't _need_ them. He wonders if it might have been a mistake to return. He hadn't gotten over his anthropophobia, he couldn't possibly hope to integrate into society, his life, again. He was just fumbling around blindly. Without purpose and without actual strings to pull him back, he found himself floating. It scares him to realize he has no idea who he is anymore.

Few people had known him in his second identity, fewer yet he could still fathom himself talking to. He didn't want to bring pain into other people's lives. He knew he had brought nothing but trouble to Hattori. Agasa was old, had a weak heart, wasn't anywhere near as fit as he should be. He had been foolish to pull around the professor on those wild goose chases when he had found a lead on _them_.

Miyano was in the same boat as him, but she had decided to restart her life. Not as Haibara Ai, god forbid, she hated it as much as he had, but as Miyano Shiho, the name that had never seen an official record before. He couldn't keep bothering her; she had already done so much for him. She brought him back, after all. When he hadn't answered her not-so-subtle calls via the media, she had hacked the government security center, collected his bank records, traced his calls and hunted him down.

The FBI had never known, and wrote off Edogawa Conan as dead, Miyano helped him fake his death more securely. Akai Shuuichi had passed away for real, shot through his left eye, had gone with a confident smirk and gentle eyes that knew he was returning to _her_, Akemi.

Yes, he is quite alone. Glaring through half-lidded eyes at the ceiling above, he feels his body grow heavy. Unknowingly he sinks into a tired unconsciousness. He doesn't register the flutter of curtains when the window is opened. He never recalls the one name he forgot, the pair of violet eyes that have restlessly been waiting his return.

He doesn't find the white rose on his nightstand until the next morning, and he doesn't remember that he's not quite as alone as he thought he was, until blue eyes fall upon the single token of love left to him by the phantom who's been secretly watching his every step, guarding him, lying in wait for the second he was needed to step in. The second is now.

The Moonlit Magician smiled sadly and stroked the cheek of the lonely detective. He would never feel the pain of being alone again, the thief vowed and listened to the peaceful sounds of the deep breaths entering and leaving the sleeping teenager holding his heart.

* * *

So it's really angsty... It'll get better though, I think. Because really, how long can a story be sad with a Kuroba Kaito in it? ;)


	2. Knowing Empathy

Shinichi wakes up feeling like someone had tried shoving down a feather duster down his throat. Thickly swallowing, trying to rid the awful dryness, he stretches and looks around. Right, he's home. He almost forgot. The painful memories don't feel quite so sharp in the light of the day.

An irregularity in the murky room pulls his attention – a white rose resting comfortably on the nightstand. He is certain that was not there when he went to bed last night, he would have noticed something so fresh in the sea of dead air.

Glaring tiredly at the foreign object he suddenly hears something. In his house. Where he is completely alone, supposedly. Almost wishing he is wrong, a creeping suspicion about the origin of the beautiful flower is making itself known, and he slowly rises. The instinct to pull a gun, streak against a wall and sneak up on the intruder is overwhelming, and he swallow down the sudden nausea hitting him deep in the gut.

The door doesn't make sound as he deliberately opens it, inch by inch. There has been no other sound following the small thud a while ago. But he can clearly sense it now, the feeling of someone _moving_ downstairs. His body is tense, supplying him with energy he hadn't thought he possessed. The adrenalin pumping through his veins fills him with a foreboding feeling. It's more than just fight or flight instinct, it's anticipation, a dreadful expectancy of what is to come. The stress fighting its way through his system is tangible. Sweat is breaking out on his back and he clenches the weapon in his hands, trying to shake the tension in his shoulders.

His hands are perfectly still, his breathing even, when he moves down the staircase. Forgotten memories are supplying him with the knowledge of where to jump a step to avoid creaking. No distractions are allowed through his focused mind; he doesn't feel anything more than the suspense coursing through him.

He reaches the first floor, and he is shocked into a standstill when he hears the low, unmistakable sound of someone whistling through the gap of the kitchen door. Who would break an entrance and _whistle_ with no care in the world for who might hear them?

Someone who belonged, his mind supplied him half a second later. Who, then? His mother? Father? An involuntary shudder breaks across his expressionless face; Ran? But he doesn't think it's either of them. He knows for a fact his father has just handed in the manuscript for the next book and should be enjoying vacation with his mother in the USA.

Then his earlier discovery makes itself reminded, and he curses inaudibly. Light steps take him to the source of his troubles, and he leans in to sneak a peek through the slightly open door and confirms his suspicion. Hand on the wooden surface he pushes and steps into the light kitchen. Sun rays are covering the floor in mysterious patterns and forces him to squint at the big contrast from the closed off hallway he left.

For a moment there is a complete silence as the other occupant of the room notices him and turns to face him. The gun is pointing to the floor in an extreme low ready, not quite relaxed but obviously not pointing at the other person in the room who doesn't spare it a glance. He holds a cup of coffee between his slender fingers and looks… expectantly? at him. Shinichi stares, not managing to step out of his guarded pose.

When it becomes apparent he is not going to say anything, the other teen clears his throat, takes a sip of the steaming cup and makes a grimace, appearing to swallow a few more vile reactions.

"I honestly don't know how you can drink this stuff!" he exclaims loudly.

Shinichi gapes, at a complete loss at the off-handed comment, so at home with the situation that the person who actually lives there is at a loss. His confusion is breaking through his defense mechanisms and suddenly his hands are shaking. Somehow managing to uncock the handgun he drops it to the floor. A resounding clock echoes through the room and neither moves.

Shinichi intends to ask the thief what he is doing in his house, but words seem unable to make its way across his tongue. Even his jaw is working against him, cramping up sending muscle spasms up his head, hinting at an approaching headache. He suddenly finds it impossible to meet the eyes of the other _human_ standing by the kitchen counter. When he wasn't a target, a threat or dead, the gaze of those very living orbs are much too piercing to confidently be staring into. He lowers his gaze and misses the frown of the other.

"But I made you a cup anyway…" says Kid slowly, obviously looking at him.

He knows he is looking at him, he can feel the spots on his skin under observation burning, itching uncomfortably. Probably thinking him crazy, Shinichi thinks sardonically. He wonders where he had ever found the bravery to stare into somebody else's glaring challenge and stand his ground. Bravery or naivety. He hadn't known the pain of being seen, working in the spotlight and challenged someone openly. He hadn't understood the risk of letting his opponents know his identity. He hadn't believed he could be pushed down into the deepest pits of Tartarus, forced through the nine circles of hell and drown in the river of Acheron. He had been wrong.

"I don't think it's poisoned, then again I've never done coffee before", the thief persistently continues. "Personally, I think you should drink some. You look like a ghost, and I've noticed that you seem to adapt somewhat better to world of the waking after some of this..." he waves indeterminately in the air "stuff-".

He is abruptly cut short when the nozzle of the gun is pushed up his face in a threatening manner.

"You _noticed_?" asks the detective, almost growling.

The other teen seems to realize the problem and chuckles, putting his hands in the air and turns the gun into another flower, a lisianthus if he isn't mistaking, without further due.

"Maa maa-" tries the other smiling brightly, if a bit nervously, but again he is cut short by Shinichi throwing him off the counter.

He pushes the thief to the floor, caging him with his elbow, arm, legs and feet. Surprised but not backing he realizes the other isn't fighting back. They stare at each other. Kid looks calm, a small, almost-not-there smile grazing his lips.

"It's nice to see you again, Meitantei", he says quietly. "You gave me quite the fright", he admits even more silently. "I had to know you were okay… I don't know what you were trying to pull off, just dropping off the face of the earth without telling anyone. Really, Shinichi, if you tried to scare me, you did a satisfactory job."

The teen looks vulnerable and strong at the same time. Determination and worry is shining through his eyes, revealing the depths of the feelings he holds for the detective. Though not a word would give away the edge he was balancing on, the shiny glace covering those violet orbs did more than tell him how scared the thief had truly been.

Shinichi, not quite out of his daze, stares down on the thief. He hadn't seen him ever since he _left_. Chasing him on his heists had been one of the few bright moments he had granted himself without hiding behind the Nemure no Kogoro or any of the other endless people he was forced to hand off the credit to. He had never caught the thief, and even he has to admit he stopped trying to. Give up the chase? Never. Catch him? Not when he was the only supplier of genuine smiles in his life of endless deaths.

The identity of the criminal was yet a mystery to him; at least it would be to anyone asking. Kuroba Kaito's identity is not going to be heard from his lips. But it comes as a shock nevertheless when he for the first time notices the thief had come out of uniform. The dark blue jacket with the Ekoda emblem he is sporting does nothing to hide the features of the other teen, remarkably similar to himself.

Slowly coming back to now, he takes note of their intimate position and looks away, a frown donning his features. Anyone looking very closely might have discovered a small tinting of red creeping up the detectives throat, but the thief underneath him is too occupied biting his lower lip at the odd behavior of his captor.

Carefully freeing a hand from the locked grip the detective have of his arms, he puts a fingertip to the other's chin. He flinches and turns to look down at him before hastily looking away again.

"No matter how cozy I find this, I must admit that I prefer blood in my legs", mumbles the thief and traces the contour of Shinichi's jaw with a very gentle touch, surely tickling him, though one would never know looking on the stoic face of said person.

He scoffs, feigning being unfazed by the indirect teasing of his prisoner, and fluidly moves away from him. He leaves him to stand up on his own and steps over to the counter where he grabs the cup of forgotten coffee and takes a tentative sip, tasting for anomalies and gulps down half the content when he is satisfied there should be nothing.

"So what are you doing here, Kuroba Kaito-kun?" asks Shinichi, looking out the window still letting in the enthusiastic light.

"I came to harass the idiot who suddenly decided friends were to troublesome to bother with, and possibly to punch some sense into him", answers the thief.

If he was surprised at Shinichi knowing who he is, he doesn't show it. Forcing his lips to remain impassive he casts a glance over his shoulder, catching the other looking at his feet, maybe even closing his eyes, fists are clenched by his sides and chin is sticking out as if in exasperation. Maybe not as calm as he is trying to project, thinks Shinichi and turns back to look out on the street coming to life when housewives are meeting up for garden clubs and stepping out for grocery shopping.

"They weren't troublesome", murmurs Shinichi, unsure if he intends for the thief to hear, but the choice is taken from him as the other freeze up, listening intently for him to continue. He sighs. "I just couldn't have them worry about me when I didn't know what was going to happen."

"So you let them think you were _dead_?!" exclaims Kaito angrily. "You didn't stop to think some of us wanted to _know_, didn't _care_ about the risk, wanted to _help_?"

"Of _course_ I stopped to think!" interjects Shinichi. "I did nothing but think for a full year before making my decision."

"Well, you made the wrong one", he hisses.

"It was better than letting you die, getting everyone involved, cursing you and sentencing you to your graves!"

"You don't think I realize the risks of getting involved in your shit means? You don't think I was worried about what was going to happen? I DID! And I still chose to follow you, you stupid, egoistic, hypocritical, arrogant, selfish jerk!"

Shinichi flinches at the insults being thrown his way, the words that are truer than he would like to admit. He knows he is arrogant, selfish and stupid. He wouldn't have let things escalate to such an extent if he wasn't. But it hurts, the words cutting deeper than his masks can cover and he turns around again. He can't face the piercing eyes of the all too perceptive magician.

Arms are suddenly around him and he gasps when he feels the strong limbs enveloping him in a secure embrace. The gasp more resembles a hitch and he tries to blink away the moist forming in his eyes. A forehead rests heavily on his shoulder and he can smell the fresh, fruity fragrance of his shampoo and the overwhelming sweetness that comes with experimenting with explosives. He can feel the press of the magician's chest pressing into his back, shivers at the tingle of a warm breath traveling down his neck inside his shirt.

"Shinichi…" the teen whispers agonizingly. "Stupid, stupid Shinichi, why didn't you just let me help you?"

His voice is so high, so close to breaking, he can practically touch upon the grief. His chest is burning, a big hand squeezing at his chest. He knew people were going to be hurt, he knew he was going to make mistakes. It was impossible not to, so much at risk, just seconds to make life threatening decisions, so many factors, but he had never considered the implications of leaving people out. If anything he regretted ever bringing people in. He always tried to keep to people already involved, the FBI, CIS, some individuals whom they had encountered on the way. But listening to the reverberating voice of this lonely teen he realizes for the first time he might have forgotten to consider someone's feelings.

"Kaito", he whispers brokenly. "I-", he can't even finish the sentence, not sure what he want to say. Explain perhaps, justify, excuse, but none of the words that come to mind feels right, feels acceptable.

"I know, I know already! So would you please just stop! Stop regretting so much!"

The words shock Shinichi and he is forced to stop and think. He knew he regretted a lot, not just actions but also what he never did, what he never got to do. Time he watched pass from the outside, unable to step in. Friends he watched move on, family growing ever distant, things remaining undone. But it was so much he missed, why couldn't he be allowed to regret?

The loud thumping in his chest answered his unspoken question. He wasn't moving on.

He didn't know how long they stood that way; Kaito's arm never losing their strong hold on him, Shinichi never making an attempt to move away. Silently listening to the sounds of being alive; their breathing, their heartbeats, clothes rustling, hair moving across skin, swallowing, moving weight between feet.

Somehow they end up on the floor; Kaito resting his head in Shinichi's lap, his idle fingers moving in the other's hair while he feels his stomach grow hot from his warm breath hitting him in the midsection. As he looks down on the relaxed teen he feels a knot in his chest loosen. He may not be where he once was, may not ever again rush head first into a wild case, but he is certain he will be able to look into the eyes of the magician's violet orbs again. Because truly, no place is safer.

He feels his eyelids grow heavy. It is hypnotizing creating patterns in the other's hair, marveling at the messy curls. He knows it's probably not the best place to fall asleep, and he doesn't intend to do so, but for just a moment he lets his eyes close, content knowing he isn't alone.


	3. Encounters

A/N: Yeah, um hi *waves shyly* So I'm back, maybe, for a bit... So sorry for the delay! Apparently stress and writing does not go together very well for me. Anyway, here comes the next installment of Returning to Pain. Enjoy! (or cry...)

Update: 12-07-12

Word count: 2500

Warning: more angst I'm afraid ^^

* * *

"Do you believe in fate?"

The question is asked in a low voice from beneath him and he slowly opens his eyes to look down on the other teen lying in his lap staring up at him while silently tracing a finger along his jaw with soft, ever gentle finger tips.

"How could I not?"

Kaito looks surprised at his sure answer. He smirks, just slightly, a barely there twitch on the lips and he breaths in deeply, intending to explain:

"I guess you have to not to go nuts having my job…"

The other hums in agreement, possibly understanding more than the occasional listener. Shinichi wouldn't be surprised if the thief had his own reasons for believing in fate, reasons just as saturnine as his.

For a moment no more is said. The silence stretches out, only interrupted by their breathing. Shinichi can feel his back protesting at the lack of movement in the suddenly much uncomfortable position; he has slacked down and the muscles in his derriere are compensating for the extra weight put on him by the magician resting in his lap. But he doesn't want to move. It feels as if this moment is important somehow.

"Your eyes are really beautiful", comes the almost inaudible whisper from below.

It appears as if the words just slipped out because a pink tint can suddenly be discovered crawling up the magician's cheeks. His lips shut tightly and his eyes lock in a wide-eyed staring contest of astonishment with Shinichi.

He is very aware that he is staring at him, jaw slacking, a millimeter gap between his lips, probably giving off a somewhat slow expression. He can't help it, because he is staring at Kaito, and he is staring back, and he said those words, and his eyes are so wide, and those cheeks are so pretty, and he is lost in those indigo orbs and he is beautiful.

"Oh…" he manages.

The other says nothing. And then everything is so quiet again. It's unbearable, it's thick and heavy and he can almost touch upon it and he wants to break it. He has no idea what to say. What do you say when you have a beautiful teenager in your lap who just said you're beautiful and you realize you love them? When the world is bright, because his eyes are deep and telling, because his body heat is seeping into your clothes, because he is there, because for just a second, everything is at a standstill – what do you do then?

"I- I'm so-"

"No, you can't say that, you can't say you're sorry."

Indigo eyes keep staring up at him, expectantly, hoping. Shinichi's words were braver than he felt, but because those abysmal cliques of color are not breaking eye-contact he will say these words. Say them before his thief backs out, afraid of what his reaction might be, thinking he has gone too far. No, he can't let that happen.

"That was nice, thank you."

Without noticing, his hand had shot up and landed an index finger on Kaito's lips, hushing him, just making sure he didn't speak while he assured him, completely innocent. Soft muscle, ever so slightly moist, a small tremor; it doesn't feel innocent as Kaito's lips presses against his finger. No one from the outside can tell, he is sure, but it isn't just him pushing – he feels the responding movement from the other. Kaito is inadvertently kissing him, or his finger anyway, but kissing him none the less!

A rupture of pleasure originating in his gut is rapidly spreading through his body, and a small smile is hinting to break loose from his grim mask of indifference.

This sensation of being close to someone, anyone, should be scaring him beyond reason. The foreign heat of a body close to his, it's clawing at his chest, screaming at him - this is what has been lacking. The fear that has been threatening to eat him whole, he can with a certainty he hasn't felt for much too long say was just a drooping sensation of loss, finally flipping on him saying he _didn't want it, didn't miss it, but rather shed it_.

Now when his personal space was invaded and he felt the soft lips of someone who _cared_ press against him in small, almost immeasurable amounts, the large gaping hole in his chest was saying, _no, we never feared this, we missed it so much we didn't dare remember_.

_Couldn't remember the security erupting in our body when someone who loved us told us they would be there. _

_Wouldn't remember how much the repeated assurances from friends' touching an arm, ruffling our hair and pulled our sleeve affected us. _

_Didn't remember that the eye contact with someone understanding what we were thinking would make us smile and have us soaring through the skies from confidence that only recognition and belonging could bring._

So he forgot.

And ran.

And for the longest time he would start shying away from the rest of society, look down on it and alienate himself to the point of no return. Realizing how far gone he had been, he felt his breath choke up. He had been _so close_. A second later and he may have crossed the final line. Leaving empathy, identification, familiarity and all that resembled home, he would have been no different than _them_. Those people, who had ruined his life, had written the starting point for the decay of the bonds holding him to the rest of the world.

Looking down on the wondrous boy resting in his lap he could see what he had been about to lose. The pale face illuminating his indigo eyes that are burning with emotion, unspoken words screaming to be said, a determination strong enough to lean a mountain against, empathy feeling more than just his fear but digging holes through him, feeling his very _soul _and _knowing. _Just a second later and this, _this_, had never been experience by him. The grief of not knowing Kaito would have brought him to his knees had he not already been sitting.

A hand shoots up to touch his cheek and his skin is burning under the small spots of contact. Yes, this is what he missed. This brief connection is what pulled him back. A realization that it isn't really hatred or anger or frustration or impulse that drags people into darkness; it is emptiness. When people don't have this, don't have emotion to accompany them, to guide and direct their moral compass, people stray. And he had been so close to straying.

But he was saved.

* * *

Time passes in an unknown spectrum, quietly invading their awareness. Before they know it, the sense that it is time to move sneaks up on them; aching muscles, feet fallen asleep and grumbling stomachs. Shinichi gently lets a hand trace down the midriff on the thief in his arms, who in response squirms and looks up with eyes full of mischief. If Shinichi reads him right, he is currently seconds away from being pranked, badly.

He smirks in response, a confident tug on the lips, almost mocking. He has no idea how his mind got from shying away to open mischief. The doubtfulness from before makes itself reminded and yet it doesn't feel as intimidating anymore. _The magic of Kaito_, he muses.

And so he pushes two digits into the side of the teen lying across his legs. He, unsurprisingly tenses up for a split second before shooting up into the air, spins away and disappears from view. Shinichi rises and stands perfectly still in anticipation, hiding the awe he feels at the quick movements (really, who could move that fast?) and crouches just a small bit in preparation for the oncoming attack.

Yes, there will be an attack. Always is, with the thief. His finger twitches. And then something dark crashes down on top of him.

A second of disorientation while gravity pushes them to the floor before the cackling of the other reaches his ears and he scowls, unhappy. Feeling the movement, sensing the limbs' placements he twists around and tosses the surprised thief off of him. Yelping, Kaito braces himself and lands on the floor just a meter away from the now standing detective.

As Shinichi faces him with a sneer, confident, despite his somewhat lacking defensive techniques, in his ability to put the much too happy thief, he can't help but pause when the other does not stop his own growing grin. Slowly he puts a hand to his face, let it slide back over his head, and feeling the slight dampness and new stiffness, gulps. Eyes narrow on the thief whose cheeky grin develops into a full blown laughter. A growl erupts slowly from the pit of Shinichi's throat as the realization dawns on him.

"KAITO!" he shouts and throws himself at the criminal.

In his defense, Kaito stands still in the wait for the enraged detective to land on him. Then again, who is to claim the sanity of the phantom thief upsetting a member of the secret investigative and executive squad for the internationally integrated crime organizations who, under strict orders from dropouts from FBI, has trained under the world's top practitioners of self-defense and martial arts?

The thief, despite lacking official training, does not lose ground to the currently pink-haired detective. He was not an internationally wanted criminal sauntering around the roofs of skyscrapers avoiding deranged police squads the past years for nothing.

Maybe it is due to the pent up fears finally coming lose in a crazy swivel of pranks. Maybe it's the sheer number of kettles present in the kitchen. Maybe it is just the cursed luck of the flamboyant detective. But in the end, the result is the same.

A small sound missed by the boys flying around the kitchen laughing, screaming, shrieking. A door opening. Light steps making their way across the hall floor into the kitchen. Two large eyes staring unbelieving at the scene of the two teens. One supposed dead. The other, a stranger she thinks she remembers from sometime long ago in a park, asking her about Shinichi, but gone from her mind at the time where the image of the person causing so many emotions to swirl up simultaneously as her brain is trying to make sense of the pure impossibility of the situation, is right before her.

It is nothing short of the gasp that sends the males in the room into a screeching halt, the quiet, very human and very present sound of another person. They pause, slide apart, and come to a ready stance with eyes glaring calculating at the source of the sound.

Mouri Ran. The girl of his dreams from his childhood, from so long ago, from another lifetime. The sight of her is heartrending. It is his lungs coming to a painful and suffocating stop. It is his mouth going dry. It is his body losing its balance and a quiet acceptance when Kaito's arms and hands support him. It is the small utterance of a choked word, so long since last time it tastes weird on his tongue:

"Ran…"

Past that comes nothing, and he can see in her eyes it's not enough. It's not alright to come after all this time, after all the ignored phone calls, the lack of contact, or assurance, of the slightest signal to indicate he is still alive. No, it's not enough.

"Shinichi… I-I, you- "

It seems she does not get much cooperation from her oral mechanisms either. He holds his breath. He doesn't know what to say, what there _is_ to say. He left her, he gave her up and he moved on. And despite his brave (stupid, egoistic, hypocritical, arrogant, selfish?) actions, his heart still constricts at the sight of her.

After a few more never-ending seconds of strained silence, Ran finally manages to pick which front to take, or assemble her shattered thoughts into a coherent sentence, whatever fit better, and she manages:

"You've come back… I didn't think you would. I talked to Agasa-hakase and he would just deny knowing anything, but I could _see_ he was keeping something in. What has been going on with you? I knew something was up. Did you think I was stupid or something? To go away for so long, not contacting anyone; what were you thinking? What kind of horrible trouble did you get caught in for you to be forced into hiding, into giving up on everything and everyone? Did you think that no one in your life could stand to hold on when times for rough? Do you have any idea how worried your parents have been?!"

By the end of her rant, the explosion of words escalates into a volcanic eruption and Shinichi flinches. Because he can hear the pain, hear the anger, the sadness. But most of all, he could hear the hollowness that has shaped her into someone who actually reaches to understand. She hasn't locked herself into delusions about his disappearance; about how angry she will be when he gets back and how everything will eventually turn back to normal. No, she has come to accept that something had _happened_. Something on a whole new level, one she might not, despite her reluctance to accept it, comprehend.

It hurts to see what he caused this strong _strong_ woman to go through. The implications of his actions once again tweaks at his guilt sensors. This is about more than safety and wanting the best for someone. This is having forgotten where the line for being able to leave someone is drawn. She confessed her love to him, and he blindly thought he could shove her aside and hope she would move on? Not happening.

His support from Kaito is growing stronger as the other pulls him into a half-embrace rather than try to push him up again.

"Mouri-san", says the thief and Ran twitches as she is reminded there is another presence in the room. "You should have a seat. This is not the place for violence of ignorance."

_Rather solemn words from the mouth of a prankster_ thinks Shinichi somewhere in the back of his mind, before he is drawn to the kitchen table. He hears the rattling of pots and pans being moved across the floor as Kaito pushes them to the side, but he ignores it. Ran sits down hesitantly opposite him and looks up at him. Shinichi can barely meet her gaze, barely stand to have her so close. Even Kaito standing behind him, slightly to his right, does not help. Instead he feels the walls close in on him. Why must they sit down? Why not stand in an open space where there were no obstacles to barricade an escape?

Lost in his thoughts he gasps when he feels Ran's fingers touch on his intertwined fingers resting on the table. She almost pulls away when she hears his reaction, but rather she more securely let her hand cup and warms his ice-cold digits.

"What happened?" she whispers, and all he can think is that he must get away.

* * *

A cliffhanger... Yeah, so hate me! Reviews are appreciated!

Thanks MysteryConan who reviewed without an account! :D


	4. Losening Grip

A/N: so with some free time I managed to make an update, yay! Here's more of the story. Considering making this the last chapter, tell me what you think. Maybe just an epilogue? Developing ShinKai? More past?

Update: 12-25-12

Word count: 2200

Warning: angsty

* * *

Her smile is worried, her eyebrows furrowed as she speaks. He can't hear her. Her lips are moving and her eyes gazing into his, following his movements intently. He can't hear her. Her body is leaning forward, her worry obvious, he can make out a small tremble in her lower lip. He can't hear her.

He can only feel the panic rushing up his stomach, clenching in a tight knot unable to solve. Hot burning acid is traveling up his throat and he can't swallow because he is frozen. Sweat running down his back and palms, but he is ice cold. Tremors run up and down his spine, having him shiver.

Why is she here?!

She is supposed to be away, be safe, have moved on. She is supposed to have met new friends, started college, gotten over her parents' divorce, started dating… She is supposed to have forgotten him.

And yet she is here, close, breathing, near enough to feel if he stretched out a hand. He can smell her breath. His nostrils are flaring as his lungs provide him with short ragged breaths through clenched teeth. His eyes are glazed over. He can see light moving into his vision from the edges. Was it meant to do that?

A hand on his shoulder squeezes him and he jerks, as if awoken from a dream. He pushes up from the chair. Stumbling, he makes his way across the kitchen floor, out into the hallway, supporting himself by the wall with a shaky hand. The door within sight he stretches out, pushes it open, thank gods it's not locked, and makes his way outside. Behind he leaves two confused, worried people whom he cares deeply for, whom he, in this moment, does not care about for one second's worth of hesitation.

The air outside is cool and dry. The rain from before must have exhausted the humidity somewhat. He pulls in a breath that doesn't reach the bottom of his lungs, it never seems to anymore.

Hastily making his way out from his yard his scattered mind is slowly starting to process the idea that he has up and left… again. Where to go? He is sure the two behind him are sure to follow soon. Ran with her strong determination and compassion just barricading through whatever obstacles are put before her. Kaito with a never-ending calculating plan, probably already three steps before him. So to avoid the obvious, the not so obvious and the down-right unlikely- where to go?

Not really managing to make up that great of a plan he knocks on the professors front door. Well, whad'ya know? Perhaps he is losing his mind? At least the not so little scientist would be able to hide him, is she wanted to… okay so maybe she would just hit him and call him an idiot.

Before he has time to change his mind and run (who is he kidding? He can already hear footsteps approaching), the door opens and Agasa-hakase opens the door, casting one glance at the pale sweating young man, opens the door wider, pulls him in and closes it.

"She's been worried sick, you realize?" he stated rather than asked and showed him into the living room where the _she_ was sleeping worriedly lying across the computer.

Guilt again washes through his veins and he swallows.

"Ye-a-ah" he manages and looks away. "Can I use your basement?"

The professor looks inquiringly at him, the big moustache moving up and down as he contemplates something. Since when did the man become so hesitant? He knows he hasn't been all too fair on him, just leaving him and dropping face off the planet, but he did that to everyone. Had Agasa somehow expected him to act otherwise? He, if anyone, knew what was going on, perhaps knew the situation better than anyone. Did he-

Shinichi feels like hitting himself when reality comes crashing down. '_expected him to act otherwise'_?! No shit, Sherlock. The man was his closest confidante. And Shinichi had left him to wonder what the heck happened to him. Not a word of reassurance. _I'm not dead_.

But how could he?

Not after that fateful night that changed everything…

Roughly he shakes his head, focuses on the old man before him. He stretches out an arm to touch him, perhaps say he is sorry, try to explain without really excusing anything. But he can't. Before he has time to move a muscle Agasa has made up his mind, smiles at the youngster, if yet a bit strained, guarded, and gestures for him to go ahead.

"Or course, Shinichi. Make yourself at home."

And he has turned around, Shinichi can't see his facial expressions anymore. Shrugging to get rid of the uneasy feeling making itself known in that small part of his chest where guilt resides, he swiftly makes his way down the stairs to the laboratory. He doesn't stay to wake Miyano, doesn't save her last glance, doesn't stop to consider her feelings in his betrayal. Because he can't.

The steps down the dark staircase to the basement are of stone. Cold as the insulation doesn't cover this secretly built part of the house. The smooth walls are colorless in the dark illumination. He shudders at the memories rushing up to match the atmosphere. The underground facilities, the locked doors with hidden investigations taking place behind them, closed archives, hidden chambers, forgotten secrets…

* * *

He reaches the floor one level down, walks into the room where miracles, curses and nightmares comes to life. He looks around, sterilized shelves, fridges, benches, cupboards speaks of the working environment. The many test tubes, glass cylinders, holders, pipettes and measuring cups reveals the equipment at hand. The bookshelf with endless rows of files, well read and cared for, uncovers the dedication. And the one small bed in one corner of the room, just a blanket and a pillow, bares the endless work put into this project. A board filled with scribbles, functions, calculations and physical axioms pointing to each other and going in circles, exposes the frustration the young woman who spent some year down here trying to create a solution to the drug she helped produce.

It hurts to see the proof of Miyano's obsession. It hurts to know that he was the cause. He knows she would never have done this for herself; she was prepared to die that die she popped the pill into her own mouth. She watched _his _frustration and had over the years they knew each other developed an unhealthy sense of responsibility.

It wasn't her fault. He would never have put the blame on her, never. But he knows the chains of guilt all too well. Knows what they will do to you. He has, after all, experienced it firsthand.

Yet she took herself through it. Clawing with her bare fingers she unearthed the secrets to the poison she brought into the world, she made it. Whole and with a straight mind, a bit roughed in the edges, but whole.

He feels the darkness he has been trying to keep at bay creep up from the shadows. The eyes of a cold-blooded murderer staring intently back at him. His pulsing heart screaming at him to _take the damn shot_. The lacking other voice he had so relied on echoing its absence. _Don't do it_, it should say. _You'll be no better than them_, it must say. _It's not worth it_, it didn't say. The finger on the trigger tensing…

"Shinichi!"

He gasps as Kaito's voice bellows through the room and he stares frantically at the man standing there, out of breath and with wide eyes, arms stretched into the doorframe for support. He can't look at him. He can't look away.

"K-kai" he chokes and in a heartbeat the other is there beside him, holding him, shushing him. "I- I couldn't… I didn't want to-"

"It's okay", says Kaito, stroking his back.

"NO!" he practically screams and he is shocked he manages to find a voice strong enough to break the threshold of his lips. "I k-k-killed… I killed h-him, K-kaito. He's d-dead b-b-because of-of me. I shouldn't h-have, but I-I couldn't n-not kill 'im. He was g-gonna get a-away and I could-couldn't l-let him do-do that. Be-because of wh-what he did. I couldn't let him get away."

The words rolling of his tongue in a disarrayed manner was the burden of his sins. He couldn't call himself a detective when he had tasted the iron-filled lust for blood. When he could sympathize with the craving for revenge and the overwhelming power of murderous intent – he had lost himself.

He can look back at the days where he would lie sleepless in his bed and wonder at the mystery of murder. It was beyond him how someone thought themselves worthy of deciding someone else's fate, how they could choose to end another's life.

He doesn't have to wonder anymore. Because he has taken someone's life.

His confession doesn't seem to upset the other all that much. He just continues to stroke his back.

"It's over now. Shinichi, do you hear me? It's over now."

His words don't make any sense. How can it be over? Doesn't he understand? It can never be over. Because what this is isn't an adventure, a project, a mission, not something that will have an end. It is his life. And it isn't over until he is over. And despite his infractions, his violations of everything he thought was right, he didn't want to die.

His decision was made during his trip where he thought about everything. All his actions and all his choices had been put bluntly before him and he had almost crashed. He had barely made it back. But because he did, he must now live. Live to repent. If only a small fraction of all the horrendous crimes he committed in his short life, he must repent. And to repent, he must life. A monkey can pull a stunt and die, but only through living and feeling the pain can he repent. It left a horrible aftertaste in his mouth, because he didn't have anything pulling at him to get back. He didn't know where to start, barely knew how to breathe.

Now staring, with tear-stained cheeks, up at Kaito, he feels a small tremble go up his back. Maybe he doesn't know where to start, maybe he can barely breathe, maybe his sins will be forever ingrained in his heart and his redemption take forever, but he has something that pulls him to life.

He can feel light in those eyes.

Just about as he intends to open his mouth and say something apart from self-loathing confessions, small steps make themselves heard in the staircase. Both their gazes shift to look at the sound, both equally wary.

"I suppose it's not all too surprising to see you back here sniveling in the arms of the thief", remarks Miyano and crosses her arms. "I would ask you two to leave everything here untouched though. I've just started up new project to cure aids. Just so you guys know, I'm far from done, so just use condoms, okay?"

The boys stare at her, mouths gaping wide open.

"Did she just…?" asks Kaito and Shinichi shakes his head.

"Don't ask…ever."

They continue staring at the genius woman some time longer, moving about the shelves, moving, looking through or searching for, they're not quite certain, but eventually she grows tired of their intense gazes and snaps.

"Would you just go someplace else? I heard Mouri-chan arriving some minutes ago and Hakase is making coffee. I could be wrong but didn't you have a severe case of addiction to the stuff, Kudou?"

Both boys quickly make themselves scarce by jumping up and making their way up the stairs. Just before reaching out-of hearing distance, Shinichi makes a pause and says "Thanks, Miyano". And just barely above a whisper he faintly hears "Yeah-yeah, whatever…idiot".

A warm hand squeezes his and he feels a surge of warmth in his stomach. Why was he so darn worried? The world didn't end, and some 70 years was plenty of time to start over. He has friends who love him, still care, will forgive him. And he has Kaito.

"Sooo", Kaito's voice slowly brings him back to now. "Is she to be trusted?"

Surprised he turns around to look at the thief following him closely behind. He looks only slightly worried while casting an occasional glance back down at the basement.

"I just mean… I'm not worried or anything, I just…"

And suddenly it clicks and Shinichi smirks.

"Not to worry, she knew who you were before even I figured it out and she hasn't told anyone. She'll blackmail you at some point but it's usually just when she's in a snarky mood and wants to be spoiled a bit or something. Once she did threaten to call my parents on me if I didn't check in more often during one of our… outings, but apart from that… nah, she's good."

Kaito seems to visibly tense and relax with every statement. It isn't until…

"Just watch out whenever she works, if you disturb her she'll turn into the devil's spawn."

that he visibly flinches.


End file.
